There is nothing quite like it
dear Jeanne or, is it 'Marguerite'?
I need not know, really.
Near Paris is a fine,
fine, place for you,
especially you in your
white frills and flowering of
seventeen years, to tie up a llama,
let it gauge your delicate form,
head to toe, robust and strong:
a llama's paradox.
Lecadre need not know, yet,
you and I have hit it off
with hairs from 'Umber' -
no, not her dear child -
plagiarist!
Twirl your cream parasol
but never disturb the llama.
Down from the Alps and into
my garden with you; she, all hairy,
and you, silky of skin and demure;
she for spring grass and you for standing
still there, quite appealing to a trained eye
and both of us, alone, among blossoms,
buds and your tiny waist, your
raven strands and fine features;
my heart beats for life,
pleasure and you, as I stroke
stroke upon stroke until
the llama, Margaret - you -
are wrought as one in my garden.
Once frozen in time,
well then, child, we shall make
of life and of time
what our hearts desire
while the llama, in shade,
chomps on.
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